


Cuddle

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27396898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Markus is tired of heroing.
Relationships: Luther/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Cuddle

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The weight of the world’s heavy on his shoulders, and no matter how much Markus was built to process, he really doesn’t think he can take even _one more thing._ He shouldn’t need to power down so soon—already had a full reboot last night—but he heads straight home after the meeting just as tired as his human counterparts. The negotiations are going as well as can be expected but painfully slow, horribly difficult, mired in concessions and one step forward, two steps back. He was supposed to stop at a convenient store on the way and get some grease for the door hinges, but that fell by the wayside, like androids being able to vote in the upcoming election.

His twists the handle and pushes into his apartment, bracing for the telltale groan. The human government offered him luxury accommodations, but _just him_ , so of course he didn’t take it; he lives like the rest of his people, decent at best, bordering on squalor. The tiny one-bedroom apartment needs so many repairs. 

The door isn’t one of them. It doesn’t squeak once, even when he experimentally pushes it as wide as it’ll go. Then he lets it go. He steps inside and out of his shoes, sensors throbbing with the thought that _Luther fixed it_ , because of course he did; he fixes everything in Markus’ life so much better than Markus is managing to fix the world. 

He opens their connection before he’s even come out of the hall, probing for a GPS, but would’ve found Luther anyway. He’s perched on the sofa, posture as exacting as any good android. The television isn’t on, no magazines open, nothing there to entertain him but his own superior mind. Markus wonders vaguely if Luther was _waiting for him_ but doesn’t pose the question. If Luther was, Markus doesn’t want to know. It’d be sweet, but tragic. Too many people look up to him and revolve around him. He can’t handle even one more. And he loves that when he comes home, that illusion doesn’t shatter, because Luther doesn’t ask how it went or what Markus is thinking or how much they’re willing to sacrifice for the future of their people. 

Luther just offers him a gentle smile and extends one welcoming arm. With his grey T-shirt stretched taut around his bicep, its easy to notice how muscular he is, even if it’s not really _muscle_. Markus has deviated far enough to see beyond the literal, into implications. Some days it feels like Luther was built twice as big as him. Markus is lauded for all his processing power, his advanced programs; he’s a _one-of-a-kind prototype_ , but Luther is a towering beefcake that could break him in half. 

He strips out of his jacket on the way to Luther, letting it fall onto the spare cushion, climbing into Luther’s lap instead. His hands slide over Luther’s broad shoulders, hips drawing forward as Luther’s fingers dig into them. Their eyes connect, everything aligning. Their thirium pumps beat in harmony. Luther opens his mouth like he’s going to say something aloud, but Markus is tired of talking and leans in for a kiss instead. Luther surrenders to that; tenderly kissing back, feather-light but deeply satisfying. Their kisses always are. 

Markus collapses onto Luther when he’s finished. He rests his head on Luther’s shoulder, simulating breath across the crux of Luther’s throat, and Luther wraps thick arms around him and squeezes him _so hard_. He’s not going to break, but it does make him feel _smaller_ , and that’s just what he needs: not to be everybody’s hopes and dreams and maybe even _ra9_ , but just one trim figure tucked into his massive boyfriend’s arms. For all his defensive programming and downloaded combat training, he never feels as safe and secure as he does when Luther’s holding him. Neither of them is generating much heat beyond the negligible warmth of overworked circuits, but it still feels like the definition of ‘cozy.’

Then Luther pecks his cheek and murmurs, “I wish I was a more advanced model, that I could be of more help to you.”

Markus muffles against the cotton fabric of his shirt, “You’re more help than you’ll ever know.” He can’t explain it in words—even his comprehensive language subroutines can’t manage a description. So he transmits the feeling instead—all the tiny commands of gratitude and pleasure that add up into _love_. Luther hums in his mind like he understands. 

When Luther pushes off the couch, he takes Markus with him. Markus wraps his legs around his boyfriend’s waist and lets that steadfast guardian carry him to the bedroom, where they tumble down into the sheets and leave the rest behind.


End file.
